


Overheating

by vaultbug



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Cybernetics, Gen, Sickfic, gender neutral reader, prompt: membrane needs your help with repairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultbug/pseuds/vaultbug
Summary: When working on a lab project together, Membrane ends up needing your help repairing his cybernetics.
Relationships: Professor Membrane/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147





	Overheating

Sometimes Professor Membrance’s cybernetics hurt him.

Static build-up, he calls it. An affliction with cybernetics. Friction from grabbing, touching gathers in the joints and ball-sockets of his arms, causing an uncomfortable heat that needs to be steamed out of the shoulders. He insists it is easy enough to manage. Integrated vents help regulate the homeostasis of his body, allowing heat to leak out steadily as an organic arm would. It does not require assistance, he tells you. You do not need to fret over him.

But when it malfunctions…

The accident happens in the lab. You and him are working -- well, he is. You kinda just stand there and nod every few seconds as he gushes over the complexity of his newest invention, trying to ignore the beating of your heart as you watch him. He’s cute when he gets into his talk -- even if half of the words go over your head and you’re pretty sure he’s making up a few on the spot, you still get the picture and enthusiasm of how effectual his machine will be. Also, he’s a nerd. 

Yet there’s something different about today. As much as his tongue speaks a thousand words per minute his body can’t seem to keep up. Whereas normally he’d be gesturing and demonstrating the attributes of his newest creation, today his hands stay oddly limp by his sides and he does not move far from his spot in front of the work-table. You grow more concerned by the second as his words slow down and his steps pause dramatically. Eventually, he begins to phase out of talking -- not that you were paying attention, as normally you would but the concern has reached an all-time high -- and looks down at himself. 

“Curious,” he says and tries to take a step. Something whines and he goes down as if shot.

You rush to his side. He’s already pulling himself up though before you, clutching one shoulder. It is paining him; you can only tell by the twitch of his left eyebrow, annoyed. “Well, this is inconvenient,” he says simply, and that is all he manages to say because something hums in the shoulder and he staggers, hitting the side of the lab table and curling down into the floor. 

You go to help but he waves you off. “One second.” He hisses, ripping the side of his lab-coat open, and you are faced with smoking cybernetics, glinting red. Heat rises from his chest, arms, and even the biolights running to his lower jaw are burning red, staining the inside of his mouth in dull embers. You watch uncertain as steam filters between his cybernetic jaw, between teeth. 

He looks hot to touch. You decide not to test that. “Are you ok?” You ask slowly.

“It seems,” Membrane grits out and more steam rises as he talks. “It seems I’ve miscalculated. The effects of the new lubricant are --” and his chest seizes up, and he does not speak but under his goggles his eyes are wide and pained. 

You think, _screw it_ , and seize the sides of his face. Thankfully, the metal is hot under your fingers but not scalding. Not yet. “Tell me what to do,” you demand because technology is not your strength and Membrane looks to be in more pain by the second. “Come on. Tell me.”

He breathes, a long gasp. “No, I can -- these effects are interesting but I may be able to fix it --” The sentence breaks off, and Membrane coughs, smoke punctuating every heave of his chest. You do not like that in the slightest. You don’t like it more when his tone drastically shifts on his next sentence, somewhat urgent. “It’s my back. You’ll have to --”

You are already helping him sit up before he gets the words out, stripping him efficiently of his lab-coat. He is shuddering in your arms but you ignore it in favour of getting him out of the white coat. Later you’ll panic about this. Right now you have a job to do. “Alright, now what?” You say. 

“The yellow lines -- it’s a manual override.” He sounds better now since his entire upper half is exposed but it must be a temporary relief because his voice still sounds serious. “Unclip them from their sockets and you’ll have it -- but first, put my gloves on. That is my main reactor. Your sweat may...” He coughs again. “I do not need organics stuck in there.” 

Wow. Gee. Thanks for the concern for your hands. You reach around him and pluck the gloves from his hands. Then, with them on, you slide your hands down his back. He yelps and jolts forward; and smoke hisses from his arms now, buzzing angrily like swarms of blackened insects. Your eyes sting from it but you blink it away. “Left or right first?” You ask, already fingering the left one.

“Left,” he chokes. 

You strip the left and as you do Membrane lets out a sigh that could be...interesting if this was any other circumstance. Steam hisses, freed from the joints and he slumps into you, the left arm gripping into the ground. You bite down any of those thoughts and start working on the right. It is more inflamed than the left counterpart, and unlike the right you can actually feel the heat beneath his insulated gloves. “How long have you been on this new grease?” You ask as you switch off the exhaust port and Membrane trembles against you. 

“Five hours,” he answers. It sounds strained.

Only five hours? “That’s not nearly enough time for your system to process and reject it,” you retort. “Feels like you overloaded something else. You mind me taking a look after you cool down?”

Membrane does not respond for a bit. Then, he says softly, “I installed a new wiring a week ago. Perhaps it was that.” 

“Probably.” You strip the right. Membrane groans and curls forward, ducking away from you. You go to follow but he waves you off again -- and then you understand why as the entirety of his cybernetics flame red and gush out scalding steam that you can feel even from the distance between you two. 

When finally it finishes he tries to stand back up, swaying unsteadily. His face is red and his brow still furrowed. Not from annoyance though. You’ve never seen this expression on him before. Maybe anger? You think back to what you’ve said to him. 

‘ _Come on. Tell me.’_

You panic internally. Damn. You practically demanded him to let you help him. That didn’t reflect nicely. Actually, it was pretty rude of you, wasn’t it? Maybe if you apologize or plead you panicked. You tried to remember where the resignation papers were in your boss’ office. That would be the perfect apology for _demanding_ something of Professor Membrane.

He stands up straight now and you feel your hands begin to twitch as he looks back to you. You try not to stare anywhere else but his face but it’s pretty hard. Now since he’s not burning up the temptation to ogle his figure is overwhelmingly high, but you weren’t about to make the punishment for snapping at Membrane worse by leering at the man. 

“Sir,” you start.

“I -- I apologize completely for this,” he interrupts, stuttering. You double-take, blinking a few times. Disbelief rises as he waves awkwardly with his hands. “This wasn’t...professional. Not something I normally do with my lab partners. I’ve never had a malfunction that required this immediate repair. I apologize, for subjecting you to something...personal.”

Ah. Is he embarrassed about being seen like this? It would make sense. You pause, and then the implications of his words catch full-force. _Oh._ Oh, he thought you were disturbed by having to help him with his body. He thought you were disturbed by the way his body looked. You hold out his coat, face burning. “No, I’m sorry, I never meant to see you like this -- like, I’m totally okay with it you don’t have to worry about me using it against you. I mean, totally okay with it in _a professional sense yes,_ not like this is anything else!” and you’re the one stuttering now as he takes it hurriedly. You look away to give him privacy, but your ears are still crimson. “I can uh -- I can apply to get this entire incident erased from my memory if you’d like? If it...threatens our work environment? If you’re uncomfortable with knowing I know. You know?”

“No.” Membrane says and you’re still looking away, but hearing the zipper slide up has your face practically glowing crimson. When you turn back around he’s just zipping the lab coat where his mouth is, still steaming. “No, that won’t be necessary. We have enough test subjects there as is without the loss of another scientist.” He makes a face. “And the scientists there are...well, they’re a bit... _crazy_.”

Understatement of the year.

He continues. “I’m just...concerned if this was something you were uncomfortable with. I could have dealt with it, myself, if it proved to be...detrimental. To our relationship.”

“You were about to overheat to crisp,” you replied fast. “I don’t think my comfort matters then -- _but,_ I was fine beforehand! You’re not horrific -- I mean, with the cybernetics and all I wasn’t uncomfortable -- you’ve integrated them very well with your body. Not like some other cyborgs I’ve seen. You’re nice to look at.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. You slap your hands on your mouth, mortified. Oh. Oh lordy lord.

The eyebrows raise. Membrane looks to you, face lost and rapidly turning scarlet. “Thank you?” He stammers and his voice is uncharacteristically high. 

You try not to squeak. Great. Now you’re hitting on your CEO. “Yes. Absolutely. Uh.” You start backpedalling away from the man, and if the awkwardness in the room wasn’t high before, now it is. “I’m going to head for lunch. It’s late.”

“It’s 2AM,” Membrane notes, just as flustered.

“Yep. Perfect time for lunch.” You finger-gun -- _oh my god you just finger-gunned at your boss_ \-- and ready yourself to make a run for it. “Uh, see you around? Next time. Professor.”

“Bye?”

“Bye,” you say and flee the room.

**Author's Note:**

> lord, membrane's a nerd


End file.
